


Lose Your Soul

by genmitsu, SeaLionWoman



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Explicit Language, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2020-12-26 23:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21109232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaLionWoman/pseuds/SeaLionWoman
Summary: Mafia is usually feared because getting entangled in its business can cost you your life.In Gotham mafia is feared because you're not getting out of its grasp even after death.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Lose Your Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374660) by [SeaLionWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaLionWoman/pseuds/SeaLionWoman). 

> This is what happens when you read a lot of Kelly Link stories and play Diablo III: Reaper of Souls.
> 
> Author notes also serve as chapter OSTs.  
Both the OSTs and the story might not appeal to your taste but they appeal to mine, so there's that.
> 
> Your comments would be like a dose of fresh blood to me ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s be ironic (or not really) and listen to Massive Attack - Voodoo In My Blood while reading this chapter.

The dark art of reviving the dead was known only to Fish Mooney. But the main Gotham voodoo priestess was, unfortunately, dead, and thanks in no small part to Oswald, her protege. Her physical shell had no use, but the immortal soul could be very useful. Later, looking through the dark catacombs, Cobblepot found the tiny, no bigger than a kitten, ghostly soul of his patron among the sand and rubble. No longer bossy, exhausted by its earthly life, the pale ghost kept hugging the ground, forlorn.

_ «_ _No one needs these poor restless souls, the whole swarms of them cast away…_ _» _

Oswald took the talisman out of his pocket - a simple woolen thread prepared in advance. The ghosts loved natural materials. The butterfly knife the Penguin always carried didn’t serve him only as a weapon or a deterrent - his palms and wrists were covered in thin pale scars since shackling the souls with his own blood was the most reliable method.

Sensing the smell of blood, the ghostly soul fidgeted and zeroed in on Oswald, turning into a light blanket of fog and shuddering with excitement.

“Come on, come to me… I couldn’t leave you, you know? You did free me, but I won’t do the same for you.”

The ghost licked the drops of blood from his palm hungrily, becoming more vivid, more solid with every second.

“First hit’s free,” chuckled Oswald. “After that you’ll have to earn it, got it?”

The ghost wavered, but it still slid onto his palm and into the woolen thread soaked with blood. Oswald hurried to tie it into a clever knot, and usually he didn’t have to incant the spell out loud, but Fish - she was different. Mages could be more stubborn than the regular people. But to Oswald’s surprise the regular ‘loyalty oath’ was enough. He felt the slight familiar vertigo almost right away - it was the telltale sign of the ghost saying “I’m with you, Master.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> genmitsu here :) I really enjoyed this work, hope you enjoy it as well.  
I'm just a translator, so the rest of the author notes are all SeaLionWoman's comments and notes :)


	2. the entourage

Oswald Cobblepot, the eccentric King of Gotham, was a collectionner of immortal souls.

The ghostly entourage accompanied him daily and was much more useful than any bodyguards or informants. Unlike people, the spirits couldn’t lie and they were exceptionally loyal to their master. But the weight of others’ souls was a heavy one, and so Oswald chose only the best ones to accompany him. The rest were either locked at home or set free, unneeded. Some, though, he had ‘bumped off’ if they particularly misbehaved.

He had three favourites now. Gabe’s spirit was exceptionally sensitive to changes, he could feel them in the air, could predict things happening in the city - he was the best possible informant. Theo Galavan’s spirit could predict imminent danger, thanks to the diet of rat blood resulting in this unexpected but interesting ability. Fish knew about the realm of the dead more than Oswald himself did, and she was pleasant company as well.

Only Fish Mooney remembered her previous life well, thanks to her own magical powers. The rest of the ghosts didn’t know about anything ‘before’, they only had vague memories, maybe some facts and names, but that was all.

With resources like these even a fool could be king, but it was one thing to come into power, and to hold on to it - that was another. And yet, the goal was achieved, Oswald’s position was secured, and his throne ceased to wobble dangerously.

“What are you going to do after, Master?” asked Gabe’s spirit, grimly curious, after Oswald took another step towards achieving power.

“I’ll decide later.”

But Oswald was lying as he said that. He was already feeling that noxious boredom overtaking him. Sure, he was feared and respected, and everyone was guessing at just how that runt could keep the whole of Gotham under his control.

“But what about… about… world… domination?” Theo Galavan’s spirit growled like an animal, thrashing around. Oswald kept feeding him rat blood on purpose, and the former enemy was slowly losing his humanity, kept forgetting how to speak, and the rest of the souls avoided him.

“If you want world domination, go out and dominate.”

Oswald didn’t care about world domination and all such bullshit. Only a year had passed, and yet the absolute control over Gotham now seemed a byproduct of Oswald’s real interest - and that was the hunt for the souls and the experiments over incorporeal ghosts.

Caution was first and foremost in his mind. Cobblepot didn’t enjoy testing his fate and he didn’t use magic if he could avoid it. The city and the rest of the world had enough sorcerers and dark mages as it were, without his input. And sure, he was on the top of the food chain among Gotham’s mafiosi, but when it came to mages… it was anyone’s guess.

He thought he wasn’t strong enough to foresee global catastrophes, or curse people and make them into obedient zombies, like Fish could. Rubbish like levitation or telekinesis he considered unworthy of his time and efforts. But owning the souls of his enemies - that really fed his ego.

“You are special… I sense some unfathomable power within you, Oswald,” Fish’s ghost whispered softly in his ear.

“You’ll say anything for a drop of my blood,” her master said, stretching his lips in a grin. The dead sorceress had an exclusive right of addressing him by his name, and every couple of weeks the Penguin treated his favourite soul to a drop of his blood.

The soul of Fish Mooney was the jewel in his crown, and he talked with her more than he did with the others, consulting her on the subjects of the living, the dead, and the resurrection rituals. He didn’t enjoy her methods though, thinking that the living dead parading in the streets and blindly obeying orders were a rather crude creation. Oswald wanted delicate work, almost precise. He wanted the true return to life, the celebration of it, and that’s what he kept deliberating all the time. It was much more compelling than the whole of Gotham and all its suburbs.


	3. the news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s remember AHS Season 1 and listen to Mirah - Special Death

The news travelled over the city like a pale shadow, touching the windowsills and antennae on Gotham’s roofs with its torn-up wings.

The young Wayne boy was crying his eyes out on the shoulder of his butler who stood frozen still and mute. Bullock, suddenly looking much older, discreetly swept away a stray tear and kept drinking from his flask without trying to conceal it.

A short necrologue was published in the local newspaper. His friends’ grief intermingled with the triumphant laughter of his enemies, but at first all of them were silent, as if they couldn’t believe their ears.

James Gordon was dead. For real this time, dead, dead as a doornail. And they would be burying him in a closed casket.

The king of Gotham was the first to find out about this tragedy.

He noticed Gabe being anxious from the early morning. The ghost looked funny - wearing a Portugese conquistador’s outfit while being smaller than a coffee mug - and he kept flitting from one corner of the room to another.

“What are you floundering around for? You’re not gonna complain that the blood wasn’t fresh enough, are you?” Oswald lashed out.

“No, Master… I sense a storm - just one death, but the city will be restless…” the spirit muttered and dissipated, sensing his irritation.

Then Fish perked up during lunch. She appeared among the cutlery, a tiny ghost in an elaborate voodoo priestess costume, and she was just as restless and anxious as Gabe was.

“Oswald…” she began talking, but he waved her aside as an annoying fly.

“Gabe told me already,” he said. “People die every day, what, should I chase each and every one of them?”

The ghost of the sorceress approached him and slithered up Oswald’s sleeve onto his shoulder.

“What is it?” he asked, because it was, apparently, serious.

“Tonight Jim Gordon dies,” Fish whispered.

“Good riddance,” he said, trying to concentrate on his omelette instead.

“You spoke too fast. You don’t mean it.”

“Don’t get cocky or I’ll erase you.”

“You won’t, and you know it.”

“I won’t, alright,” Oswald pushed his plate away. It seemed like they were determined to stop him from finishing his lunch. “But if you plan to annoy me, then you can feed like the rest of them. Or like Theo.”

“You don’t understand. If you arrive there first, you’ll get his fresh soul and not a pale weak ghost. And then we could try out the ritual we’ve discussed so much.”

“Give me the time and place, I’ll deal with it myself.”

“What?” the ghost took alarm. “What about us? Aren’t we your favourites, Master?” And Gabe and Theo also peeked out from behind the mug, as if on cue.

“Oh, ‘favourites’, is it? ‘Master’, is it? I’m going alone. I might take Theo though, he’s not as chatty.”

Galavan’s ghost started fidgeting excitedly. He preferred to walk on all fours now, seldomly standing on his feet, but he still could speak clearly. Fish and Gabe sat in the shadow of the coffee pot, resentful.

“It’s because of you guys people think I’m practically mad! Because you just keep talking to me!”

The ghosts fell silent, chastised like that. They hardly had anything fun to do, only their talks and accompanying Oswald outside. And there was still time until night - their master could change his mind.


	4. newbie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is Dead Man’s Bones - Lose Your Soul

Oswald was at the scene twenty minutes past the incident the GCPD would try to hush up and the newspapers would call ‘an accident’.

What once was Detective Gordon, now lay splattered over the road and the sidewalk. And even though he’d seen plenty of dead bodies before, this time Cobblepot stood frozen, shocked, and he averted his eyes out of respect for the person he knew while he was alive.

He tried to appease himself by thinking that, no matter how badly he wanted it, he was unable to help Jim anymore. It was obvious that the man was not only hit by a car but also run over with the wheels a couple times and then hit over and over with something like a crowbar. There was no saving anyone.

“What did they rolled him over with, a tank?” Fish kept fussing over Jim’s body, licking off the still warm blood. Theo was somewhere nearby, if his content growling was any indication.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if all his enemies did pitch in for a tank… But I’m more concerned about the soul,” Oswald stood at a distance. It wouldn’t do if anyone noticed him so close to the scene of the crime.

“It should be around here… forlorn…”

There was something disgusting about his minions enjoying their blood feast, smearing themselves with it and almost moaning in morbid exaltation.

“Alright, stop that,” Cobblepot said, shifting his shoulders in irritation. “That’s not a smorgasbord for you. Go look for the soul.”

Fish and Theo reluctantly left the puddles of blood and started flying over the road and sidewalks. Oswald looked back a couple of times.

Oh there it was! How could he fail to notice it?

The lonely little ghost was sitting all curled up at the curb. He looked adorable. Oswald took out the knife and the silk cord - special talisman for a special soul. Oswald already knew who’d take the favourite’s spot from Galavan who was becoming more and more beast-like. After, he remembered that he heard the car approaching too late, so much was he engrossed in his prey. He only remembered the headlights emerging from the darkness for a brief moment, momentarily blinding him before disappearing again.

He could only guess if they noticed him. They should have. But right now it had no importance at all…

He looked down, at his hand. Careless distraction cost him, and the knife’s blade cut deep into his left pinky. The blood gathered in his cupped palm and now was dripping down, soaking his cuff and seeping into his sleeve. Tiny Jim Gordon was sitting on his wrist, drinking his, Oswald’s, blood. The ghost was doing it carefully, with dignity, unlike Galavan and Mooney - he drank the blood as if it was spring water, by scooping it up with his hand. Oswald almost got lost in watching him, but then he remembered that he dropped the silk cord, the talisman for the ritual.

There was no time to go looking for it.

Whimpering from the pain in his cut finger and trying not to spook the soul, Oswald reached for his necktie, took it off with one hand and pressed it to the cut.

“Enough, you,” he said, but the ghost kept stubbornly holding on to his pinky, kept trying to go under the cloth now covering the wound. “What a greedy little…”

“That’s because he’s fresh. It was less than an hour ago. He doesn’t understand anything yet,” Fish whispered, sitting on his shoulder. Galavan was at his feet, hungrily smelling for his master’s blood.

“Leave us, you two. This is an intimate moment,” he ordered, and the ghosts dissolved into thin air, sighing in disappointment.

“Hey, you, fresh dead! Or what, recently departed?” Oswald snapped his fingers right above Jim’s ghost to catch his attention. The ghost finally looked at him. Of course, he couldn’t have recognized Oswald. His mind was a complete blank, a true new leaf now. And the first rule written on it, the first law, the only axiom of his existence would be the oath of loyalty to his only master.

The ghost kept pressing to the cut. It throbbed with pain, and Oswald was tightening the necktie in attempts to staunch the bleeding. Somehow, seeing his own blood made him nauseous, his vision was blurring. His lips incanted the spell almost on their own. The usual consequence of shackling the soul to his own, that light vertigo, now felt like torture. His eyes were watering, he was drenched in sweat.

With great difficulty he managed to reach the car that he’d left in the neighbouring street. He flopped onto the seat and tried to catch his breath, thinking that the drive to his house would only take half an hour at night. It took almost an hour and a half instead, with him crawling through the streets like a wounded turtle. His vision kept blurring, his finger was throbbing with pain. Even when he was driving drunk he had less trouble concentrating.

“A fresh soul… Damn you to hell…” the King of Gotham kept muttering, as if feverish, squinting at the headlights in the opposite lane and the light from the lamps.

“Hell wouldn’t want to bargain with you,” Fish said, floating over the dashboard.

“Get lost, you’re distracting me…”

“No more than you’re distracting yourself. Concentrate on the wheel and your movements. There’s no pain, you know.”

“I know. And your suggestion technique isn’t working. Enough. Better explain what’s happening to me,” Oswald groaned.

“Oh, Master, that’s what catching a fresh soul does to you. The spirit doesn’t realize where he is, and he keeps thrashing like a captured bird. And by the way, we don’t have a big window for the ritual. Forty days at most, and the sooner we start…”

“I know. You didn’t tell me anything new,” the master of souls cut her off.

The ghost trembled and paled in pain. Oswald smirked. For his minions upsetting him felt like missing a hit on the nail and hitting your finger instead - unpleasant, hurting, but they only had themselves to blame.

“Better tell me if we’re going to have trouble with the newbie.”

“We shouldn’t…” Fish glanced at his left hand, which he closed in a fist as if on instinct. “Ah, I see…”

“What are you going on about?” Oswald felt he was getting slightly better.

“Master has a new favourite,” Galavan’s ghost said gloomily from somewhere under the passenger’s seat.

“Everything passes, and this shall too,” the master of souls muttered heavily, glancing at the road in his side-mirror.


	5. long time without love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now let’s listen to Spooky sung by the wonderful Dusty Springfield.

“Man, what a bunch of stuffy stooges. I should crank the air conditioning to the max...”

But even a hundred air conditioners wouldn’t be able to alleviate or blow away the encompassing boredom of the King of Gotham. The Iceberg Lounge was packed, and almost all of the customers were crime bosses. People, connections… Oswald could’ve managed easily without any of them, only relying on a handful of ghosts trained to gather information, but the mortals’ world had different rules and he had to adhere to formalities…

Oswald Cobblepot was sitting in the ‘throne room’ of his club, holding the highball glass full of club soda. The rhythm section was playing on the stage, full of rumble and rich bass. He wanted to get the business stuff over with and get pleasantly drunk. Oswald was listening to his guests halfheartedly, more busy with deciding on the drink he wanted to get wasted with tonight, something to help him make peace with reality. What should he choose? A shot of ice-cold vodka, or maybe some thick blackberry liquor? Maybe something dull, like bourbon? Or maybe a killer sambuca?

Gotham’s collectionner of souls was going to celebrate an important event - the catching and shackling of James Gordon’s soul. Ah, what possibilities that opened before him!

Oswald could hardly contain his smug smile. The best celebrations were those that occurred inside of us, after all.

Finally all the talks were concluded, the cameras and microphones turned off. Fish and Gabe rolled down his right shoulder and started frolicking around on the table like children. Theo was whimpering and snivelling somewhere on the floor.

Oswald carefully extracted the new ghost from his suit pocket. Jim Gordon was sleeping sweetly, all curled up in Oswald’s palm. Oswald touched the ghost with his finger and the newbie woke up, stretching and rubbing at his eyes.

The ghost of Jim was unlike the rest of his ethereal companions - he looked just like a regular human, only tiny. That alarmed the master of souls, that, and also something else.

“He’s totally different from all of you,” he said thoughtfully, watching Jim’s ghost. The newbie was floating over the table, looking at napkins and glasses with curiosity.

“More alive, you mean?” Fish suggested.

“I thought the word was taboo to you,” Oswald gave her an unpleasant smirk. “So what about the resurrection? Did you find something out?”

The ghost of the sorceress trembled, approaching her master.

“I have a few options, but you’re not going to like them,” she said very quietly.

“Ah, I see,” Oswald was disappointed, but what else should he have expected from the former voodoo priestess? “The usual works? Brown fox’s blood, oxen anuses, bat sweat, all my favourite stuff, right?”

The ghost could only nod, looking downcast. Fish Mooney perfectly knew how her master disliked the complexities. The rituals he used were simple but no less effective. She was especially impressed by how her former protege seemed to act on instinct, not relying on grimoires - as if he was only remembering what was once forgotten.

Oswald himself was irritated by that, on the other hand. He wanted to know the principles, the logic, the patterns. But how could you explain something you yourself didn’t understand? He could only use what skills he had, without analysing them.

“Okay, let’s think about it,” Oswald sighed, beckoning Fish’s ghost with his finger. Her soul settled on his shoulder familiarly, softly glowing with pleasure at the privilege.

“You should start by telling him who he is…” she began.

“No, the name can wait. He’s already completely mine. Let him show what he can do first.”

“And after?”

“After, we’ll tell him who he is, and see how he reacts… He’s very unusual.”

“Master is… too lenient with the newbie…” Galavan’s ghosts rasped in jealousy, slithering over the floor like a snake or a rat - certainly not a human anymore. “The newbie drank Master’s blood like a leech…”

“Good for you,” Oswald praised him. “You’re a rat, but a smart one.”

Theo was telling the truth - no other soul received so much blood in one go. Compared to the usual dose of a few drops that was an unspeakable luxury…

“What’s so unusual about him?” Gabe asked, curious.

“See for yourself. Hey, newbie!” Oswald called Jim. “Come here.”

The ghost rushed to his master at once, but he miscalculated and hit a glass in his hurry. The glass broke, shattering the silence as well.

His master snapped his fingers and then he was holding Jim Gordon’s soul gently in his palm.

“I’m sorry, Master,” the ghost blurted out ardently. “I’m not good at moving around yet…”

“I noticed. Not that I mind, but…” Oswald gave a tired sigh. “Listen up, newbie. You’ve disappointed me and therefore you’re punished for the next twelve hours, got it?”

“Whatever you wish, Master,” the ghost said and disappeared obediently.

“Whoa…” Gabe and Fish gasped as one.

“And what’s interesting,” their master continued, unperturbed, “is that he’s able to go through that glass, and he’s also able to do, well, what you’ve seen.”

“What is he, a poltergeist?” Gabe looked completely stumped.

“No. I don’t know. Probably not,” Oswald couldn’t find a rational explanation himself. There was no use asking Fish either, she was just as surprised.

“Are you regretting not listening to Gabe and I?” the sorceress looked at him, timid.

“No, why? There’s nothing to regret. If he bores me I’ll just erase him, that’s all.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“If he annoys me - I will,” Oswald repeated stubbornly.

“You know it,” Fish smiled. “The new favourite isn’t very liked, is he?”

“Yes and no. Why do you think he’s my new favourite, anyway?”

“We have some reason to,” the spirit tried to evade the question. “After all, you and he were…”

“No we weren’t,” Oswald cut her off too abruptly and once again got lost in his thoughts.

The resurrection ritual resulting in success - that’s what the master of souls wanted right now. But, if shackling the souls was something he got used to, the resurrection involved careful planning and even more fuss. Oswald remembered how he tried to resurrect various dead, the ones that were shot, strangled… The attempts ended in failure, mostly because of the initial damage to the body; the spirit merged with it, then a terrible, disgusting agony followed as the body was going through the throes of death a second time over. The soul suffered too much damage after that and was completely useless, the only thing to do with it was to erase it.

So he had to be smart about finding the body. It had to be a fresh one - he had some experiments with stiffened corpses which resulted in nothing good - without significant damage, too, because what was the point of reviving someone who was going to die a couple moments later.

“What are you thinking of, Master?” Gabe and Fish were having fun by having a sliding race over the table but stopped to ask him after a while.

“We might not meet the forty days deadline… People in Gotham don’t die the way we need them to.”

“Maybe someone drowned? There’s plenty of those here…” Gabe was aflutter from his own good thinking.

“Yeah, thanks, I know. I’ve almost become one myself,” Oswald remarked darkly. “Too much hassle, although it’s not a bad idea.”

“We could poison someone!”

“It’s more difficult to flush the poison out of the organs after, more than the water out of their lungs.”

“Maybe someone clinically dead?..”

“Or someone electrocuted…”

Time flew by in discussions like these. Fish insisted on giving her voodoo magic one very last chance. Gabe, who listed all the options of deaths and killings, supported the former sorceress, insisting that Fish was an expert.

“Alright, you talked me into it. We’ve got to try something. But first we need to solve another problem,” Oswald got deathly bored talking to his minions.

“What problem bothers the Master so much?” Fish stopped over the table, waiting. Gabe was right next to her, and even Theo got onto the table, looking at Oswald obsequiously.

“The problem,” he stretched lazily, “is that I haven’t had anyone fall in love with me for a long time…”

“But we all love you deeply, Master!” all three of his favourites perked up, their eyes lighting up with the desire to serve him.

“You, my dears, don’t even have a choice,” Oswald smiled ironically.


	6. success of endeavors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I want you to listen to Nouvelle Vague - This Is Not A Love Song

Wednesday always felt like a trial version of Saturday. Someone should’ve declared that law, the only useful one.

The vocalist was singing on the stage, full of anguish, about his feelings towards some ‘Arabella’, but none of the guests cared about that, they were too busy with themselves and their drinks. Thankfully, the gloomy song ended, and the rhythm of the new one matched Oswald’s uneven gait perfectly.

Then he was at the bar, and the bartenders froze behind the counter as if awaiting the execution.

“Alright, what do we have here?” the club owner asked them capriciously. “Something that’s worth drinking, that is.”

The bartenders were grasped by terror not unlike the one experienced by the citizens of Pompeii in their last moments.

“Wh… whatever you wish, mister Cobblepot,” the bravest of them stuttered.

“Alright. Give me a shot with even layers of grenadine and vodka, and add some tabasco on top,” Oswald gave them his trademark stare of tired irritation. “Did you get that, or should I repeat?”

They didn’t have to be told twice and in half a minute the shot was ready for Oswald, carefully topped up with the hot sauce.

He twirled the necktie in his fingers - the talisman of Jim Gordon’s soul, crusty with dried blood. The ghost appeared on the counter, hardly bigger than the shot glass.

“Master’s forgiven me so quickly…” he began.

“Talk less, I’ll be a lot more forgiving,” Oswald cut him off. “I summoned you for a reason. Want to see what you can do.”

“What should I be able to do?” The ghost was worried.

“Hm… Well, for a start, tell me about what you notice and feel. And I will start with drinking for the success of your endeavors.” The alcohol burned his throat gently, it was definitely a good start.

“What is this place?” Jim’s spirit looked around with eager curiosity, twirling in the air.

“My club.”

“Wow!”

“Yeah. Don’t get distracted. Tell me what you’re feeling and seeing.”

“Alright. So these ones,” the tiny ghost pointed at the bartenders, “are afraid of my Master. One wants to go home fast since he’s still hungover from yesterday. The other two just want to sleep and want the shift to be finished.”

The ghost kept looking the club guests over, commenting on each and every one.

“That one’s seducing the wife of his friend, but she doesn’t care… That girl wants to hurl but she doesn’t know where the toilet is… And that one,” he pointed at Zsasz who stood in the most inconspicuous corner. “Oh, but he worships my Master! And he craves to be more appreciated and praised. He’s pretty vain, although he doesn’t look like it.”

“Not bad. Continue,” Oswald nodded in satisfaction. He liked the abilities of the newbie more and more.

“And that one…” the ghost gestured towards the singer on the stage. “He’s been smitten with Master for a long time now and wants to strike a conversation.”

“I see…” Oswald looked at the singer who was hugging the microphone stand and winking at some girls. “He’s pretty cute, although he looks like he’s barely eighteen.” Then he put him out of his mind, too busy with the second cocktail shot.

“To your… no, not health, you don’t have any health,” Oswald paused for a second, measuring his new favourite with a glance. He almost called him by his name, and he shouldn’t rush. “To our endeavors, newbie!” The King of Gotham saluted his new minion with the shot. “Let them be successful.”

In half an hour the stage was empty and the musicians came down to the bar. They were pretty good, so the club owner nodded to the bartenders who set out a set of shots for them, which the band members drank gladly. The singer looked over the club, pretending to be casual, and noticed Oswald close by. Oswald could barely contain a smirk - the moment the guy met his eyes he pretended to be very engrossed in the nearest wall.

“He’s very nervous, but terribly attracted to Master…” the ghost whispered.

“Yeah, I can see that, thanks. Tell me about someone else, I’m bored.”

After about ten minutes of gathering his courage the singer ordered some sweet long-drink and, grasping the glass nervously, walked down the bar to sit on the stool next to Oswald. He spoke first, too.

“Hey, I have no idea who you are…”

“You don’t need to,” the King of Gotham waved his bodyguards back to their positions.

“He’s lying, he knows that Master is the club owner, but he doesn’t remember your name,” Jim’s ghost whispered obligingly.

“Alright,” the singer smiled. “I’m… I’m Alex, and I think you’re the most unusual person I’ve ever met in my life.”

Having said that, Alex blushed deep crimson and began a staring contest with the floor.

“You’re not bad yourself,” Oswald replied, stifling his laughter. “Alex, do you smoke?”

“Yeah!” his new acquaintance nodded energetically and procured a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Come on, not here!” Oswald started walking towards the terrace. Alex was following him, enchanted.

“This guy’s falling in love with you more and more with each passing moment…” Jim whispered hotly into his master’s ear.

Oswald could easily predict how the rest of the night would go - they’d go out for a smoke, have a bit of conversation, and then…

Zsasz suddenly appeared before him with some urgent matter that had to be addressed by the King of Gotham himself. Oswald caught Alex’s disappointed look before leaving the club room, accompanied by Victor.

“Master breaks hearts just like I break glasses,” the ghost muttered.

“Sounds right,” Oswald smirked haughtily. “He can wait, he’s not going anywhere…”

“Who knows,” Jim’s soul settled on his master’s left shoulder and he couldn’t help noting that.

_ «Fish likes to sit on the right, and this one chose left… That can’t be just a coincidence…» _


	7. handsome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really rec Garbage - You Look So Fine to accompany this chapter, especially the version that’s usually marked as Fun Lovin' Criminals. It’s gonna be so right, I promise you.

It was way past midnight. Waiters and bartenders moved lazily as flies stuck in resin, the number of customers dwindled, but bouts of drunken laughter still erupted from the tables and the bar was crowded as well.

“...and now we light it up…” Oswald was teaching Zsasz the correct way of drinking sambuca.

“Boss, are you sure it’s worth the fuss? Maybe we should just chug it?”

“That’s blatant disrespect of this wonderful drink, Victor! Chugging it would be barbaric.”

The mercenary was tired from the coffee-and-sambuca ceremony, but the effect was worth it - the alcoholic vapors gave him quite a buzz.

“Let’s talk business. Did you find it?”

“Of course. It’s already delivered,” Victor’s speech was slurring slightly. “The highest quality goods.”

“What, have you tasted it?”

“No, I’m just certain.”

“Alright, mind your business then. You can go.”

Oswald smirked, looking at Zsasz walking away, wobbling visibly.

“Wow, just one shot, and he can’t walk straight.”

“He doesn’t have that Asian gene. Or is it vice versa?” Jim’s ghost got out of his waistcoat pocket.

“Someone likes to eavesdrop, huh?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping! Master didn’t tell me to leave, like he told others,” the ghost retorted hotly.

“And you were too stupid to get a clue, huh?” Oswald took immense pleasure in nitpicking Jim’s actions. “Tell me then, did he lie about the goods?”

“He was telling the truth, Master.”

“We’ll see. It concerns you too, by the way.”

‘The goods’ were nothing else but a sample of Jim’s blood, delivered from the lab on Oswald’s request. The master of souls had never fed the spirits with their own blood before, but this time it was quite a lucky opportunity. On one hand he wanted to go home and experiment, but on the other…

“Come here, newbie,” Oswald took out his tie pin and pierced the skin on the pad of his ring finger in a practiced way. “I’m your princess tonight, but don’t expect me to sleep for a hundred years.”

The spirit approached, entranced, and started licking the drops of blood from the finger hungrily, closing his eyes in bliss. Oswald could swear he felt a warm tongue on his skin.

_ «No, it’s just alcohol, simply alcohol, but this manner… He’s just like the real Jim Gordon, he moves the same way he did when…» _

He managed to brush away the useless memories, but he could do nothing with the sudden arousal that grasped him.

“Okay, that’s enough,” the master of souls waved his minion away and pressed a napkin to his finger. “So, what do you say? Did you like that?”

The effect was almost immediate - the ghost whirled over the table clumsily and fell into an empty glass. He tried to get out of it by grasping the rim but slid back down again.

“You’re pretty wasted, aren’t you, newbie?”

The ghost looked at his master, aggrieved, and then mustered his strength to go through the wall of the glass.

“How are you doing this? Explain!”

“Doing what, Master?” Jim was obviously surprised.

“This. You either go through things or you move and drop them.”

“I dunno,” Jim flopped onto the table and nodded drunkenly. “Why did the blood taste different? What’s that strange taste?”

“It’s called alcohol. Strange that you don’t know. You were quite savvy before,” Oswald grinned.

“‘Before’ - what is it?”

“Before, my dear, means ‘before’. But right now you only have the ‘now’...”

And it was still so damn boring. Oswald looked over the club guests lazily.

Oh, that was more interesting.

There was that singer guy at the bar, what’s his name… Matt? Andy? The King of Gotham squinted; the guy was pretty handsome! And Jim told him that the singer had been watching Oswald for a while and he was practically in love with him.

“Hey, newbie, can you bring him over to me?”

The ghost followed his master’s gaze. “But how… how am I to do it?”

“I gave you an order, it’s your job to figure out how to get it done, so stop annoying me,” Oswald told him off-handedly, lighting up the new portion of sambuca.

The ghost zig-zagged clumsily towards the bar; there he circled the guy’s head a few times and then, pausing for a bit, dove right onto his temple. The hit was rather noticeable and the poor singer almost fell from the stool, surprised, and he shook his head. He didn’t understand what had happened. The ghost was getting ready to hit him again, this time from the side. Oswald sighed - seemed like not even death could cure Jim’s brusque manners. The singer got up, looking for a different spot, but he noticed Oswald and walked up to him.

“I was waiting for you on that terrace, thinking you’d come back…” the singer stood in front of his table, fiddling with the collar of his biker jacket shyly. Oswald gave him a sweet smile, but he wasn’t going to explain his absence even to cute guys, no thanks.

“Where were we, by the way?”

“I suggested we go for a smoke, and then you were gone.”

“Let’s pick up there, then. I really crave a smoke after drinking, you know…”

“He’s seriously interested in Master…” Jim appeared all of a sudden with his comment.

“Go away, just go away,” the collectionner of souls hissed softly.

They walked out onto the empty terrace of the club. Oswald clicked his lighter. His new acquaintance bowed over the flame, lighting his cigarette, and he caught Oswald’s gaze and held it. Oswald knew that stares like these were something like the neon arrow signs over brothel doors.

He didn’t want to rush, though, and he took a satisfying drag of his cigarette in this company. The August night was mild and pleasantly fresh. He shivered a little, and his acquaintance put his jacket over Oswald’s shoulders as if on cue. The sophisticated King of Gotham found the gesture really cute.

“I hope you don’t mind…”

“Not at all.” Oswald was looking his companion up and down candidly. “Sorry, what was your name again?” 

_ «Never had guys with such long hair before. And musicians to boot. Some diversity won’t hurt.» _

“Alex.”

“Ah, right…”

“What should I call you?”

“What did you think of when you first saw me?”

“I thought… that you were handsome. Alright. That’s what I’m gonna call you then. Do you mind?” the singer asked carefully.

“Whatever,” Oswald smirked. He liked flirting with Alex.

“You’re handsome…” Alex said slowly. He moved closer, tugging at the jacket’s collar delicately but with insistence. His lips, sticky from alcohol and tasting of nicotine, covered Oswald’s mouth.

The night was definitely becoming more interesting.


	8. celibacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s gotta be Arctic Monkeys - Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? - this song has to be here.

“Ugh, stop drooling when you kiss, it’s disgusting… Wait, what did you ask me?”

“Your place or mine?”

“So, you’re asking a stranger, just like that?..”

“You’re not a stranger. You’re Handsome, from now on.”

“I know I’m handsome, I’m not objecting to that…”

Alex was barely standing up after smoking. He squinted drunkenly, leaned towards Oswald again, trying to catch his lips, but he missed and was kissing his cheek wetly instead with a dopey grin.

“By God, are you at least eighteen?”

Alex sobered up at once and moved away from him.

“I’m twenty nine, by the way. I’ll be in my thirties in half a year,” he said seriously.

“You’re lying, I don’t believe you!”

Alex, with his shaggy hair and big brown eyes, looked like a total kid. He rummaged in his pocket and procured a driver’s license.

“See for yourself, if you don’t believe me…”

“Oh come on! I had this when I was sixteen. You can easily get a fake ID nowadays, you know?” Oswald found the familiar necktie in his pocket while speaking. Jim’s ghost appeared between him and Alex.

“You called, Master?”

Oswald turned away from Alex on the pretense of discarding his finished cigarette.

“This guy says he’s twenty nine. Is he lying?”

Jim looked Alex over, measuring him up, then turned slowly to Oswald.

“He’s not, Master.”

Alex looked as if he was mortally offended by Oswald’s disbelief, and he was wobbling from alcohol and cigarettes.

“Okay, no offense…” Oswald walked up to him. Alex was biting his lips, looking sideways.

_ «Are his eyes sparkling or is he going to cry? I don’t need this shit!» _

“It’s just that you look so young. I can barely believe we’re just three years apart…”

“Fuck this!” Alex exploded. “The moment I meet someone, they start telling me I look too young! I’ve had it! How can I look older? Maybe I should just go straight for the coffin then?” he turned away and started walking back to the club.

_ «Oh man, not another hysterical guy…» _

Oswald followed him slowly and found a place at the bar. Alex wasn’t in sight - he probably ran away to cry in the toilet.

“Does Master desire that brat?” again with this ghost, Oswald was getting tired of him… Did he forget to order him to disappear?

“No, your master isn’t interested in that,” he got suddenly curious if Jim would be able to call his bluff.

“Oh, I see…” the ghost stopped, surprised.

“Where did you think I got my magical powers from?” Oswald decided to go big and lie like a king too.

“Where?” the ghost opened his mouth slightly, naive.

“The secret is celibacy, my ghostly minion.”

“So… absolute abstinence?” Jim looked greatly shocked.

“Of course. Magic is a strict science, there can be no exceptions or leniency,” Oswald kept lying with the straightest poker face.

“I’m sorry for thinking such obscene things about Master!” the ghost gave him a deep bow, trembling in awe. “I’m sorry for doubting you even for a second. Certainly my Master is the epitome of purity and chastity!”

_ «So he can’t use his abilities on me. That’s interesting…» _

But Oswald’s train of thought got interrupted as someone was approaching him quickly. Yeah, that was to be expected. He barely had time to order Jim to disappear when Alex stood next to him.

“Is something the matter?” Oswald asked nonchalantly. He still had Alex’s driver’s license in his hand, and his leather jacket was on a stool nearby.

“You… I… I can’t leave.”

“Sure sucks to leave without your jacket and ID too.”

“It’s worse to leave without you.”

Oswald stifled a tired sigh. _ «What is it with me and these brown-eyed thin dorks? Yet who am I to resist temptation?.. But sleeping with him tonight, after that hysterical outburst? No way!» _

Alex was nervous, staring at the object of his desire. He was just a regular guy, a poor musician who managed to save up enough money for an old Stratocaster, who barely managed to get a gig in the most fashionable club in the city, and for what? Right - to fall head over heels for the club owner, the devilishly elegant and seductive manipulator… He didn’t even know his name! No, he knew it, but he didn’t remember. He was always shit with names.

“So…” Alex finally mustered up enough courage to continue the conversation. “What’s your name, handsome stranger?”

Oswald was amused but he didn’t want to provoke the guy anymore. The King of Gotham was bored again.

“Why don’t you sit down for a start?”

He didn’t have to tell him twice.

“What are you drinking?”

“At the moment, nothing,” Oswald nodded to the bartender. “Also I’m not _ drinking,_ I’m picking up where I left off.”


	9. good boy, bad boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INXS - Never Let You Go tells it like it is

“You still haven’t introduced yourself…” Alex felt even more drunk when they went outside. He stood close to Oswald, trying not to wobble.

“Allow me to remind you that just an hour ago you were asking, ‘your place or mine’,” Oswald mocked him.

“Yeah I remember! I’m not drunk! I could go for another drink, easily!” the musician retorted.

“I don’t doubt it. Better get in the car, let’s go.”

“Where?” he looked at Oswald in surprise.

“‘Where’, you ask?” Oswald replied in the same tone, gently nudging Alex towards the open door. “Your place or mine, you choose.”

It was more chilly inside the car then out on the street. Alex froze too - it was one thing to be in his presence at the club, where other people were as well, and a completely different thing to find yourself sitting across him in the back of his luxury car.

“What’s the matter, Alex? You behaved differently at the club. What’s changed?” Oswald continued to mock and tease him.

“Dunno. Maybe I drank too much.”

“Relax, I’m not going to kidnap you or anything. Just say where to, otherwise we’ll be going around the city in circles until morning.”

“Alright, then my place,” Alex perked up and recited his address.

“I know that area,” Oswald leaned towards the screen between them and the driver’s compartment. “Did you hear where to go?” he asked the driver.

“How come such a golden boy knows a rundown area of Gotham?” Alex joked poorly.

“Piss off,” Oswald sighed tiredly. “And I’m not a ‘golden boy’.”

“No? Then who are you?” Alex sat closer to him and put his hands on Oswald’s shoulders.

“I’ll tell you if you stop drooling on me during kisses.”

“Deal!”

“...Dammit, Alex, I asked you… Like a Pavlovian dog, for God’s sake…”

“Not my fault you’re so sweet,” the singer whispered, bringing Oswald closer. “You’re so sweet and yet so cold, my mister Iceberg,” he purred, nibbling on and kissing his partner’s neck and jawline.

“No colder than you are, mister Arctic Monkey,” Oswald grinned. “Or what was your band’s name?”

“You’re attentive. I’m flattered…”

A slow languid kiss followed, they both exchanged quiet moans, twining their fingers together. Oswald was the first to break away.

“The trial period’s over, thank you for choosing us,” the King of Gotham gave Alex a sly grin.

“That was too fast, I only got into it…” he replied with disappointment and then smiled charmingly. “I demand continuation.”

“We could… but what would I get in return?”

“Whatever you want,” Alex whispered hotly in his neck. He grabbed Oswald’s hand and guided it towards his jeans impatiently. “I want you to touch me…”

“Where?” Oswald was pretending to be dense, looking at him.

“Oh God, I’m gonna die unless you…” and Alex was kissing him deeper and with more intent. Alex moaned and wiggled in the seat, trying to undo the knot in Oswald’s necktie, get to his clavicles and chest.

Oswald wasn’t feeling the least bit aroused, amused maybe, but nothing more. The times when a single kiss could turn him on were long gone. The situation was wrong, the moment was wrong… Quick sex wasn’t as appealing anymore.

“You probably want me to do something, don’t you?” Oswald kept mocking Alex, his hand was still on his thigh but never moved further, to the singer’s disappointment.

“Yeah, and the sooner the better,” he uttered as if feverish.

“I should probably take my hand away, you must be uncomfortable.”

“No! Stop teasing!”

“I wasn’t even - so, what do you want me to do?”

“I… I have no idea what I want, you drive me so mad,” Alex let out a broken sigh.

“Unfortunately, I can’t read minds,” Oswald kissed him quickly. “Oh, and we’ve already arrived.”

“We have…” Alex stared at the window, his eyes clouded by inebriation and arousal.

...They stood next to the car, smoking; both sensing the impending arrival of a hangover which promised to be as merciless to the simple musician as to the King of Gotham.

“So what about your precious name? Are you going to keep it a secret?”

“No secrets. Ask him,” Oswald nodded to the driver.

Alex walked towards the front of the car and drummed on the door.

“Pardon me, sir, but what’s the name of your boss?” he asked the driver when the window rolled down.

“Mister Cobblepot,” the driver answered blankly, not even looking back.

Alex turned slowly and looked at Oswald from under his messy thick bangs.

“Fuck. I’m a dead man,” he whispered.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s not like I’m often drinking with the King of Gotham and end up kissing him, and all in one night.”

They huddled together, trying to keep warm. The night air was leeching the warmth out of them quickly.

“You’re very cute,” Oswald bit his lower lip to keep from laughing.

They started kissing madly again.

_ «He’s the absolute best, I won’t let him go like that… Gotta talk him into going to my place, and then he won’t get away…» _

_ «Damn, what a slobber… He’s probably thinking about getting me into his flat, but no, definitely not today…» _

“Yes, I am terribly cute. Maybe we should go inside?” Alex smiled, distancing himself slightly.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Oswald didn’t let him go, holding onto his waist.

“How interesting, from one to ten?”

“It’s my turn to ask questions,” Oswald wasn’t going to surrender, especially not to Alex who thought he’d won the jackpot. “Alex, are you a good boy?”

“Me? Of course I am!” the sudden question made him laugh.

“Really? Can you prove it?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Well… You went driving with a stranger, groped me all over, drooled all over me too. Is that the way for a good boy to act?” Oswald shook his head in reproach, but he still had that sly smile playing on his lips.

“I agree. I’m not a good boy, I’m a bad boy, very bad, - and you’re the good one, the best one,” Alex thought that Oswald was ready to stay with him and he only had to be more insistent. “So, let’s go inside, my good boy?”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“I don’t get it.”

“So, I am a good boy, is that right?”

“Oh yes!” Alex exclaimed hotly, jingling his keys in triumph.

“And what are the good boys busy with right now?” Oswald lowered his gaze playfully, showing his long eyelashes.

“What are they busy with?” the musician’s brain wasn’t working too well, especially this late into the night.

“The good boys are busy sleeping at home.”

Alex froze, surprised.

“See you,” Oswald kissed his cheek chastely and escaped his embrace. He smiled back at him, getting into his car.

“Sleep tight, bad boy Alex.”


	10. the punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dead Weather - Blue Blood Blues is the song for this part, I think.

On the way home Oswald was alone in his car save for his ghostly minions. He couldn’t be bored, looking at them, for they kept flying around the car, sneezing and huffing, and he was amused while they, of course, weren’t.

“Oh what a stench… terrible, terrible stink…” was all they could say through sneezing and groaning.

“What’s happened to you?” Oswald asked his minions, barely containing his laughter. “What is it, some kind of allergy? But what caused it?”

“This smell…” Fish looked down, as if ashamed to voice it. “The smell of sex, of a strong desire. Someone who was here wanted to get Master’s attention… and not only attention… and for us it is a certain irritant.”

“Huh. I had no idea.”

Oswald noticed that Jim’s ghost was sneezing the most, and while the rest of them quieted down, he was still sitting in a corner, sniffling, looking especially miserable. The other spirits kept glancing at him, whispering among themselves.

“Did we upset Master? Who upset him? Maybe it was our newbie who did?” Theo was the most angry among them.

“Not that. Do be quiet…” Fish tried to calm him down, but in vain.

“What are you muttering about?” Oswald was really irritated now, he thought the drive home took too long.

His driver was one of the successful voodoo experiments that Oswald performed sometimes on Fish’s insistence. The voodoo zombie was a reliable thing, but too slow for the master of souls who was used to his orders being obeyed immediately.

“Jim Gordon messed up, so we were made to suffer!” Galavan spat in the end, and he immediately regretted that.

“And who’s ‘Jim Gordon’?” asked Jim’s ghost in complete silence.

“We’ll talk later about who Jim Gordon is,” Oswald said gently. “But I’ve been wanting to deal with you, Theo, for a while now.”

He snapped his fingers and Galavan’s ghost was splayed on his palm.

“Do I need to explain to you the reason for this?” Oswald asked. “What are your last words, Theo?”

“I’m yours forever, Master,” the ghost said with difficulty.

Instead of an answer the master of souls covered his minion with his other palm and rubbed his hands together as if trying to warm them. When he opened his palms again, the ghost of Galavan was gone.

“Where is he?” Jim asked, naive.

“How should I know?” Oswald lied quickly. “I’ve erased him.”

“‘Erased’? How?”

“You saw how I did it, with my own hands,” Oswald leaned back into his seat again, looking absent. He wasn’t planning on explaining more. “You got that, right, newbie?”

“Not really, I’m afraid…” Jim came closer to Fish and Gabe and sat between them. “I got that I shouldn’t upset Master, and that I shouldn’t mention Jim Gordon. But now I’m curious…”

“Curious?” Fish hissed and smacked him upside his head. “Has Theo’s fate taught you nothing?”

Jim’s ghost pouted but stayed silent. Gabe decided to act as a peacemaker and gently pushed Jim aside to sit between him and Fish. Oswald nodded in satisfaction.

The next step of erasing a soul was the burning. Oswald lit the black woolen thread, the Galavan talisman, near his house. He watched the last abode of the spirit burn away slowly, sparkling a little. Judging by the calm smoulder, Theo had no grudge against him and his justified punishment for disobedience.

“Was it East or West?” Fish greeted him with a question which he thought almost offensive.

“Will you be checking me every time?” he frowned, but still deemed her worthy of answer - after all, she was his mentor. “Of course I burned him on the West side. And I mixed the ash with the dirt. Ashes to ashes, and all that.”

“What’s next, Master?” Gabe and Jim appeared in the dimly lit hall.

“Next I’m going to bed and you are guarding the house.”

The ghosts left him, hurrying to take their posts outside. It didn’t go smoothly - Jim’s ghost couldn’t pass through the entrance door on the first attempt, and Gabe waited for him patiently, until he finally managed it.

“Your voodoo doll is resting in the staff room, don’t worry,” Oswald told Fish before she could ask him, worried as she was flying next to the window. “He won’t be sleeping on the ground like he did last time. I did think he liked that, though. But I don’t want some voodoo union to blame me for mistreating your creation.”

Oswald yawned and started for his bedroom, but then he stopped and beckoned Fish’s ghost to approach.

“Why are you all so anxious about our newbie?”

“We have our reasons…” the sorceress tried to avoid answering, as usual. “He’s your favourite now and we shouldn’t quarrel.”

“Is that all?” Oswald squinted at her.

“He’s still getting used to his shape and he doesn’t know much… And yes, he’s special too,” Fish said, pausing slightly.

“Like I am?”

“Not in the same way, but I can’t figure it out, yet. He has… something.”

“Everyone has ‘something’. The blood experiments should tell us what it is.”


	11. blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kooks - Bad Habit for this part, because why not.

Fish’s ghost was busy flying along the bookshelves in the living room, perusing the already familiar titles and author names on the books’ spines. Gabe and Jim were racing over the tabletop, rambunctious like little kids. Just a regular night at Cobblepot’s mansion. Same old, same boring stuff. Or so it seemed.

“Fuck this! Can I trust no one at all?!” Oswald exclaimed, bursting into the living room.

The spirits started nervously, circling nearer him, but not too close.

“What’s the matter, Master?” Gabe was the bravest of them and asked.

“Zsasz fucked me over, that’s what! Gordon’s blood isn’t even blood, it’s some weird shit!”

The spirits froze, watching their master rage on. The moments when Oswald was angry never bode well for anyone, but right now his anger was aimed at someone else, to his minions’ relief.

“What is it?” Fish rose up almost to the ceiling, becoming practically transparent in the bright light of the lamp.

“You want to give it a look? Come on then! Maybe you can tell me what that… shit is!” Oswald spat out.

The sorceress obediently approached him and sat in her favoured spot on his right shoulder. They went down to the laboratory, that was hidden in the wine cellar. Hiding in plain sight, really, because no one would expect to find not the wine bottles behind another cellar door, but blood samples for feeding the spirits, and closets full of unused ghosts, waiting for their chance.

“Have to warn you about the smell,” Oswald said, wearing a respirator and gloves and only then approaching the box marked as originating from GCPD labs. “It was stored properly, but still…”

“You weren’t born yesterday, Oswald,” Fish looked at him dubiously. “Don’t you remember the scent protection spell?”

“I do,” he sounded irritated even muffled by the respirator. “The blood is a sensitive substance, I have no idea how spells are going to affect it.”

“You have a point, but…”

Fish forgot what she was going to say. The open test tube that Oswald was holding with pincers contained anything but the blood. It was bluish-black and thick as molasses, almost vibrating with ominous energy. A strange, sweetly suffocating smell completed the picture.

“This, if the label is correct, is our Jim’s blood.”

“It can’t be… I only saw stuff like this once,” the sorceress uttered, stunned.

“Oh, so you know what this abomination is? Come on, spill then,” Oswald said, sealing the tube again, putting it back into its box and closing the lid.

“I’m not sure…”

“Don’t test my patience, Fish!”

She sighed. She didn’t want to anger her master, he could erase her on a whim like he did Theo and that wasn’t something she looked forward to.

“It’s a demon’s blood, Master.”

“Good joke, my dear, I appreciate your wit.”

“I’m not joking, Oswald. It’s a demon’s blood, a real one.”

Oswald lowered himself onto a chair, feeling tired, and closed his eyes.

“Explain it again. In detail.”

“You do know we cannot lie,” Fish whispered.

“I do. That’s what worries me. You mean to say that James Gordon is a demon who was working as a policeman while alive? But I saw his body, I saw his blood - it looked like regular human blood! And both you and Theo felt nothing. That’s very strange.”

“Simple mimicry. The demons aren’t interested in getting discovered, like the rest of us.”

“I wonder what happened to his remains…”

“Tell me you’re not going to… Please, not that!” Fish got scared seeing the stubborn look in Oswald’s eyes. His passion for research sometimes frightened her more than his angry outbursts. “Tell me you’re not going to disturb his grave!”

“What do you care?” her master flared up. “I do what I think is necessary, period. But now I intend to feed our Jim some blood, he has to be hungry. He looks really down lately… Do you want to watch?”

The sorceress looked at him, her gaze haunted.

“Don’t make those eyes at me. I don’t care if you want to or not. Get out!”

She vanished.

All the preparations were over with too - the test tube was secured, the glass dish and the necessary tools were next to it, nothing extra here. Everything was just waiting for the recipient.

Oswald snapped his fingers and Jim’s ghost appeared before him.

“Did Master call me?”

“‘Course I did. Ready for a late night snack?” The ghost licked his lips and nodded. “I didn’t doubt it.”

“Bon appetit,” Oswald said, letting just one single drop of the dark liquid to end up on the dish.

“Is that all?” Jim looked at him, offended.

“For now. Come on, don’t be shy and taste it,” Oswald encouraged him.

The ghost leaned over the table and carefully extended his finger to the drop of blood. He inhaled, as if getting ready to jump into a cold lake, and tasted it.

“How do you like it?” Oswald looked at his minion with interest.

“It’s nothing special,” he shrugged and scooped the rest of the blood from the dish. “Just regular blood.”

“Hm… Alright, taste some more,” he added more blood to the dish. “This should be enough.”

Oswald put the test tube back into its box and got busy watching the ghost again. It became more vivid, more apparent, but that was the usual effect of the blood feeding.

“Do you feel any different?”

Jim shrugged again.

“Come on, don’t let me down!” Oswald exclaimed. “There has to be something.”

The spirit contemplated it, but still ended up shaking his head.

“Fine. Gotta clean this up…” the master of souls turned away for a moment, throwing away his gloves. Then he turned back and froze, stunned. “Oh, this is getting interesting…”

Jim took the dish into his hands calmly, gathered the tools that were still on the table in it and looked at Oswald.

“Where should I put this, Master?”

“Wherever, I don’t care,” Oswald whispered. “Will you… Can you get me some water?”

“Just a moment, Master!” the ghost perked up and flew towards the kitchen. In less than a minute he emerged again, carrying a glass of water with ease.

Oswald took it, trying his best not to betray his nervous excitement, and put it on the table. His hand was shaking.

He wasn’t thirsty at all.

But Jim’s ghost, now the regular human size, behaved as usual, and he watched his Master, obsequious and waiting for new orders. 


	12. the dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time we’re dancing to Antony & The Johnsons - Fistful of Love

_ «I have to think this over, be calm, be cool…» _

Oswald Cobblepot was sitting in his living room, watching the fire burning in the fireplace. He had trouble keeping calm. This night’s discovery was bigger than anything he’d ever seen, he had virtually nothing to compare it to.

Fish was motionless on the mantelpiece, also stunned and confused.

“Where’s Gabe?” she asked at last, trying to break the oppressive silence.

“He’s outside, guarding the mansion,” her master replied, but he was absent-minded, and that worried Fish more.

Suddenly some music sounded from the depths of the mansion and made Oswald come back to reality.

“What the hell… Is someone pulling a prank?” he rose up, irritated, and went towards the sound. It seemed like it was coming from his bedroom. The sorceress followed him.

The mansion was kept secure by the spells, and Gabe could keep the unwanted guests out better than a whole lot of useless bodyguards. Oswald never doubted him. So he didn’t have to guess who was the source of this disturbance. There was only one option left.

“Whoa…” the master of souls and his minion gasped at once. They stood in the doorway, watching, and there was definitely something worth their attention. Jim’s ghost was dancing, twirling around the spacious bedroom to the music from the speakers.

“Quiet, quiet…” Oswald stopped Fish. “Wait. Where else would you see Jim Gordon like that?”

The melody was picking up pace and the ghost was moving with it, matching its rhythm rather well. His eyes were closed and his lips moved slightly as he sang along.

Oswald made a slight gesture and the sorceress disappeared. He thought that a scene like that had to have just one spectator. Meanwhile, Jim was still swaying to the music but he also decided to spice it up by undressing. He dramatically threw his suit jacket away, then shrugged out of his shirt and made it fall to the floor.

“I didn’t know you liked this song,” Oswald reveled in catching his minion unawares. Jim was looking at him with fright, trembling.

“Quite unexpected results, one surprise after another,” Oswald continued, walking into the room and sitting on the bed.

“Master…”

“What’s with the show all of a sudden?” Oswald interrupted him. “So spontaneous, and absolutely free of charge, too!”

The ghost was avoiding looking at him.

“You knew it would catch my attention. You did it on purpose…” Oswald yawned. “But you know, I’m not interested in what you were planning because I’m tired and sleepy. So… Where’s that remote?..”

“Under the pillow,” the ghost finally mustered enough courage. “Please don’t make me leave, Master.”

“I won’t. You’re going to guard my dreams, stripper,” Oswald felt he was completely exhausted and just wanted to fall asleep.

“As you wish, Master,” Jim moved towards the bed and settled in the vicinity of its headboard.

“Not like this, damn you,” Oswald muttered in irritation. “Hovering there like a silent guilt-trip…”

“Please forgive me…”

Sleep gently embraced Oswald, making him breathe deeper and calmer.


	13. the dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Come Into My Sleep, because what can be better than Mr. Cave for this instance. That’s what I think.

Oswald woke up in less than an hour.

“No… where are you going? I didn’t ask you to lie with me,” he shoved off his minion who was trying to join him under the blanket.

“I was just…” Jim tried to explain.

“Ah, whatever,” Oswald waved his hand sleepily. “Lie wherever you want.”

Oswald settled in more comfortably and closed his eyes once again, but he felt movement right next to him. He was tired and kept dozing off, and it was hard to understand if those gentle touches were real or from a dream. They were calming him down.

Before, many hours and weeks earlier, the King of Gotham wouldn’t have been able to sleep just thinking that Jim Gordon was in his bed, but now… Now it was only a dream, and the touches came from an incorporeal ghost… who behaved quite unlike a ghost recently, by the way.

“Don’t know what you’re up to, but continue…”

“As my Master desires.”

Oswald felt something light touch his hair, his skin. It was pleasant, but it wasn’t worth waking up fully for, and Oswald was on that sweet edge between being asleep and awake. The ghost was getting more audacious, getting under his clothes and rolling over his skin like a warm wave. It even seemed as if he was breathing, trembling from excitement. But of course it could only be an illusion - the souls couldn’t breathe, they didn’t need to.

Ah, there it was again, that sliding movement from his neck down his chest and lower.

“Does Master desire me?” the ghost asked in awe.

“Master desires a lot of things, but right now, yeah, I guess,” Oswald replied languidly.

“If it’s allowed, then I…”

“Oh, shut up and do something, anything.”

Jim’s ghost appeared before him, ruffled, his eyes burning with arousal. It was an eerie thing to realize that he wasn’t a real person, just a ghost of one. It mattered little in the dark anyway… But the touches and those warm impatient fingers that were undressing Oswald, they were very real.

“Why don’t you get undressed as well?” Oswald suggested. He was already naked and waking up more from the cool night air.

“Oh, yes, of course,” the ghost hurried to free himself from his clothes.

“What’s taking so long?” Oswald got fed up with waiting, and Jim lunged towards him, hovering over.

“Would Master allow me to kiss him?”

“Do that.”

Despite the passion that was undeniably real, the kiss of a ghost felt barely like a soft touch.

“Try more, you can be more… apparent,” Oswald rose towards the ghost’s lips again, but the result was the same. He sighed in disappointment.

“I… Master, I still have no idea what affects the state of my form, but maybe I could try once more?”

“Whatever,” Oswald was losing interest in his ghostly lover.

_ «A thing to remember - more blood makes the ghost more solid…» _ he thought, looking at the ceiling which seemed more interesting than Jim’s clumsy fumbling. The ghost kept trying to satisfy his master, peppering him with kisses, but his fussiness was getting on Oswald’s nerves. He rose up on his elbow and looked at Jim.

“Oh wait… And how were you going to? No, I mean, there are ways even like that, but…” Oswald couldn’t keep from giggling. “Just look at yourself!”

The ghost stilled in confusion.

“Is… is something wrong, Master?”

“Oh yes, quite wrong. Just look between your legs!” Oswald laughed out loud with no reservations. Sleep was gone, gone completely.

“What… What’s wrong?” Jim was still not getting it.

“Okay…” Oswald tried to quiet down. “Look between your legs and then look at me in that same spot. Is there a difference? Doesn’t it make you wonder?”

“But…”

“Come on, I understand that you’re a newbie and you don’t know a lot, but… You’ve got no cock. At all. How were you going to have sex, you piece of idiot?” and Oswald laughed again, rolling on the bed in delight.

Jim looked at his master, then touched himself between the legs, finding only smooth skin there. Ghostly souls didn’t need to relieve themselves, nor could they produce progeny so it made sense they had no genitals at all.

“Alright, come here,” his master settled down even if he was still smiling. He reached towards his night stand, taking a thin needle. “I’m not used to stopping halfway, especially if it concerned… concerns you, old friend.”

Several drops of blood leaked out of the pricked fingertip on his left hand.

“See? Right from my heart.”

The ghost didn’t need to be told twice and he closed his lips over his master’s ring finger.

“So?” Oswald touched the ghost’s cheek with his palm as he was getting frighteningly more solid, flickering softly in the dimness of the room.

“I’ll try something else… I hope Master would like that,” the ghost whispered, sliding down Oswald’s body.

“I see someone still has some memories…”

“Memories of what, Master?”

“Never mind. Keep going.”

The ghostly caresses were unsure and his touch was shy.

“Fuck, I’m not raping you, am I? You wanted to do this yourself!” Oswald fidgeted, displeased. “Enough with this pretense. Both the situation and the positions should be familiar to you, do you really recall nothing?”

“There’s something, but I’m not sure…” Jim said slowly, sliding his tongue over the spot where Oswald’s hipbone protruded slightly. “I’m worried about my master…”

“What?” Oswald was surprised. “What’s this bullshit?”

The ghost pursed his lips. “What about abstinence and Master’s magical powers?”

“Ah, that…” Jim’s good memory was really inappropriate in this moment. “Think about it. You’re a ghost and I am your master. Is my minion capable of harming me?”

“Oh no, never…”

“See? So stop dawdling and start acting already!”

“As you wish, Master…” the ghost took Oswald’s cock into his mouth, and even though it wasn’t as intense as he would’ve liked, Oswald still inhaled shakily, deeply.

“Very good, don’t stop,” he muttered.

He looked down. Jim Gordon was kneeling in front of him, sucking him off obediently in that very moment, and it was the wildest and most coveted sight he could think of. It didn’t matter that it was only an incorporeal soul. That soul belonged to Oswald now.

And that turned him on so damn much.


	14. memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Powersolo - Baby, You Ain't Looking Right. Because I love AHS OST, that’s all there’s to it.

Gotham’s collectionner of souls woke up with a terrible headache in the morning. It felt like a hangover.

“...And he discovered that in bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug,” Oswald told his reflection with an ironic smile. The rest of it was no laughing matter, because the aftermath of his sleepless night was too apparent.

_ «Who knew some ghosts left hickeys…» _

“Is something the matter, Oswald?” Fish looked at her grumpy, sleepy master.

“Not yet, but the day’s just begun.”

“Oh, there was a funeral!” Gabe perked up, looking at the morning newspaper over Oswald’s shoulder.

“Yeah? Whose?” Oswald was staring blankly at one spot.

“The one whose name we can’t say,” his minion hinted carefully.

“Ah, right… Okay, I’ll deal with this later.”

His absentmindedness was but a ruse. In fact, Oswald was thinking about the events of last night and the way Jim was affected by feeding on his own blood.

_ «I wonder what would happen if you mixed his blood and mine, what hellish cocktail that would make?.. And the blood of a demon, if that’s what it is, what does it taste like? Its colour is strange, its smell too, what if it’s like acid or something?..» _

The lobby of the Iceberg Lounge wasn’t the most secluded spot, but Oswald didn’t have a choice. He managed to get about half an hour to himself around noon which he used to talk to his souls. The rest of his affairs could wait - he was too curious.

The morning newspapers were laid out on the table like solitaire cards. Fish and Gabe were mulling about nearby, tense and silent. The preparations were finished and there was no sense in putting this off.

“What do you think?” Oswald asked his minions at last.

“It should affect him,” the sorceress said carefully and Gabe nodded.

“Alright. Leave us, and make sure no one bothers us… Who knows how it would go.”

He summoned Jim’s ghost. His favourite appeared at once, and he was tiny again, no bigger than the palm of Oswald’s hand. Someone, Fish or Gabe, already taught him that favoured ghost trick of changing costumes. They were always trying to one up each other, dressing up in various fancy getups.

Oswald couldn’t hold back his smile. His newbie was dressed like the knight templar, but the armour was definitely uncomfortable and very loud and creaky. Finally Jim managed to remove the heavy helmet from his head and was looking at his master, ruffled and embarrassed.

“Master?”

“Yeah, just the one I was waiting for. Are you ready?”

“I was born ready!” Jim replied enthusiastically. “What for?”

“The initiation, old friend.”

“But wasn’t last night…”

“No, that was just… something of a feeler…” Oswald blushed slightly. “Alright, look at the papers.”

The ghost started circling the table, commenting on the headlines.

“There was a fire on the outskirts, that’s awful… There’s some kind of concert, huh… And a funeral. I know that name - James Gordon! Who is he?” the ghost asked, looking back at his master.

“You don’t know? There’s even a photo there… Doesn’t it look familiar?” Oswald was getting nervous thinking what kind of reaction it could provoke in his minion, but perhaps he shouldn’t have jumped to any conclusions. “Look closer…”

Jim had been looking at his own photo for an eternity, or so it seemed. It showed officer Gordon in his usual habitat, at the GCPD precinct. Eyes sunken from the lack of sleep, gaze solemnly autistic, a tired smile… Oswald had no better option than to rely on the choice of the journalists, and they, apparently, thought it was the best photo of a good dead cop.

“Should I even know him?” the ghost hesitated. “I don’t like him at all.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. He looks strange, unpleasant even,” Jim frowned in disgust.

“What if I told you that it’s you?” Oswald decided to take the offensive.

“Me?!”

“Yes, you!” Oswald was biting his lips, excited, waiting for his minion to finally get that epiphany. He thought the effect of it would have to be overwhelming, at the least. But it wasn’t going the way he expected it to.

“It can’t be,” the ghost frowned. “That’s not me.”

“What… what do you mean, not you?” Oswald shook his head and looked at the newspapers again. “That’s you! Who else?”

“I may be a newbie and I may not understand a lot, but this… I refuse to be this!” Gordon stomped on his own photo in indignation.

“So,” Oswald was flaring up. “So you, little bastard, dare to doubt my word?!”

“I don’t doubt my Master’s words, but I just… I don’t like him!” Jim threw away his helmet, incensed. Everything about Jim indicated he was very pissed - he stood on the table, his hands on his hips, his lips a thin line.

Oswald grinned at this too familiar a pose. It meant his minion could still remember something about his past life.

“Okay, so it’s a mutiny.” Oswald lost his temper. He had more important stuff than educating daft souls. He sighed and snapped his fingers. The ghost lowered himself onto his palm like a falling leaf, and just as quietly. Oswald gently squeezed him in his fist, bringing him closer.

“You’re… you’re fucking dead, James fucking Gordon!” Oswald exploded. “Do you get it?! You died! You’re dead, dead for good! You’re buried! There’s a tombstone too - and we shall look at it soon enough.”

Jim didn’t expect such a reaction from his master. Just last night he was allowed to do something special, something that Jim rightly deserved as his favourite… But now his master was outraged and the reason was something the ghost couldn’t comprehend. His master demanded that he answered to some stranger’s name too…

“Look at what, Master?” Jim uttered, scared.

“At your damn grave! Fine, the audience is over! Get out!” the King of Gotham snapped. The ghost vanished at once.

Oswald leaned back heavily into his chair.

“He ‘doesn’t like it’, my ass…” he muttered under his breath.


	15. the sufferer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to The Doors - People Are Strange for this one.

“You’re looking down… Hey, newbie, are you even listening to me?” Fish was fussing over Jim who was lying on the couch pillow face down.

“I am,” he said without raising his head.

“Come on, get up! Put on some music and let’s dance! You know how to do it!” she pleaded.

“And the TV too!” Gabe leaned heavily over the back of the couch. “I’m curious what happens outside the city…”

“I don’t wanna. I won’t,” Jim turned on his back and started staring into the ceiling.

“What’s with him, huh?” Gabe asked Fish after leading her to the farthest corner of the room.

“He’s suffering. Master is displeased with him. He was summoned to Oswald twice today, and our newbie failed him both times,” she intimated.

“Eh, why does he take it to heart like that? Master is like that, first he’s threatening to erase you, and then you’re his favourite and can drink as much blood as you want…” Gabe’s spirit licked his lips dreamily.

“It’s not like that, I mean, it’s more serious than that…”

“I can hear you!” Jim announced grumpily.

“Don’t eavesdrop!” Gabe and Fish retorted at once.

Jim got up and went towards the stereo system. The music flowed, finally.

“What is this sullen stuff?” Fish looked at him in disappointment.

“That’s what I want to listen to. Don’t object. I want to suffer,” Jim lowered himself onto the couch again and started contemplating the ceiling again.

“Leave him alone,” Gabe suggested. “Master shall return very soon, there’s bound to be something to look forward to.”

“Just what did you do?” Fish asked.

“Nothing. Nothing much,” it was obvious that Jim wanted to unload, but he was being shy.

“Come on, spill!”

“First, Master tried to tell me I was some unpleasant life-beaten guy. Then he cast me out,” Jim said. “Then he summoned me again and wanted me to look at some weird building from the inside. I remember seeing the clock and lots of dull impotents, bored out of their minds with work. It smelled like crap!”

The minions looked at each other - the building had to be the police precinct. Oswald wanted Jim to visit the places of his former glory, but to no result, it seemed.

“Then we went to a cemetery. He kept pointing some fresh grave out to me and kept calling me Jim,” the ghost was on the verge of tears. “I never understood what he wanted. And he was getting angry, he kept insulting me more and more… and then… he cast me out again!”

Jim cut himself off, gulping nervously. The ghosts took their master’s displeasure very hard, and now Jim’s soul was restless, suffering, like a mistreated dog.

“Eh, that happens,” Gabe tried to cheer him up. “Now he’s angry with you but then he’ll summon you and feed you blood and you’re good again. This will pass.”

“No. I’m a bad servant,” Jim shook his head. “I upset Master. But I really don’t understand…”

The ghosts quieted down, hearing the entrance door open. Their master was back home.

“Ah, there you are, my darlings!” Oswald was in a good mood, and Gabe and Fish started swirling around him once he plopped down on the couch. Jim was hiding on the mantelpiece, afraid to come closer.

“Yes, you two are my favourites!” The King of Gotham smiled benignly. “But you,” he pointed at Jim’s ghost, “you… I declare that you do not exist for me tonight.”

It was one of the worst punishments for a ghost who misbehaved. Jim paled and dissolved into thin air.

Oswald stretched his limbs. His day was difficult and exhausting. His usual business aside, he also tried to awaken Jim’s memories, remind him of his previous life, but to no avail. His stubborn ghost didn’t even want to accept his own name! That not only put a wrinkle in Oswald’s plans, but it also infuriated him like disobedience always did.

“Oswald,” Fish settled on his shoulder, “you’re being too hard on the newbie…”

“I don’t care! If he doesn’t obey me, he gets punished. Even if he’s my favourite.”

“Did you show him the grave?”

“Of course I did, that’s the usual fare. I even took him to the precinct, hoped he’d remember something, anything there. But nope, nada. No reaction. He looked around it and started saying again and again that he doesn’t like being Jim Gordon. Did he feel that way while alive, I wonder?”

“Who knows…” the sorceress wondered. “Don’t forget that he’s a demon and they’re different at their core…”

“Whatever. Demon or not… I don’t care if he’s Lucifer himself - he is my servant, he’s shackled to me, so he has to obey me and me alone - completely!”

Oswald got distracted by the music playing from the speakers.

“Oh, that’s Jim…”

Jim’s ghost peeked out from behind the couch timidly.

“Not  _ you  _ \- that’s Morrison. Since you don’t want to be Jim Gordon,” Oswald said acidly.

“I do…”

“Oh, do you now? But you don’t like it, right?”

The ghost was silent, his eyes downcast.

“I shouldn’t be so forgiving,” Oswald sighed. “But alright, come here. Let’s try remembering again, see what jogs your memory. There has to be something to remind your stubborn ass… Do you remember how you killed her off, Jim?” Oswald pointed at Fish. Jim shook his head.

“You don’t… What do I even do with you?” the master of souls looked puzzled, tired.

The ghost kept from talking, pursing his lips. He was afraid to even look at his master, and any response could provoke an outburst of annoyance. Then Fish perked up and started whispering something into Oswald’s ear.

“You think? But he won’t remember…”

“It’s worth trying out,” she shrugged.

“Alright, let’s risk it. But first things first,” Oswald limped towards the wine cellar and then emerged back, carrying the dish full of blackish-blue liquid.

“Come here, newbie,” he beckoned Gordon to approach. “Don’t fret, I’m not going to erase you.”

“Drink,” Oswald ordered when Jim’s ghost obediently got closer.

The ghost drained the dish quickly and then Oswald could see Jim Gordon, full-size, sitting across the table from him.

“Just look at him, Fish,” Oswald smirked. “He looks like the French flag.”

The ghost’s lips were bluish from feeding on the weird blood, his eyes were red as if he’d been crying, and he was pale, exhausted by his master’s cruel displeasure. He was sitting still, looking at Oswald with guilt and devotion.

“Just like the real thing, just dead. And he doesn’t remember shit…” Oswald whispered, amazed.

“Let’s help him remember,” the sorceress suggested.

“I wish - but how?”

“You wanted to tell us something about the two of you…” she reminded him.

“It was so long ago I barely remember it myself,” the master of souls snorted.

“Just begin, and then we’ll see.”

“Alright,” Oswald sighed. “Okay, it was about half a year ago, right after Victor’s birthday…”

“It was Christmas Eve,” Jim said finally, breaking his silence.


	16. Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would suggest listening to a very winter song (at least that’s what I perceive it as) Strange Overtones by David Byrne and Brian Eno. There’s also a cover of it by We Barbarians, it’s also good.

‘Shitty holidays’, that was what Oswald called all the big parties at Iceberg Lounge. The party they threw around Christmas Eve was barely different from any other one - it just also coincided with the birthday of Victor Zsasz.

Oswald came to his senses somewhere in the club, on a couch. He had trouble gathering his bearings, but when he finally did, he realized he needed to take a leak, and fast.

He limped to the toilet over the glass shards that crunched under his heels disgustingly - broken bottles and glasses all. He braced himself on the wall with one hand as he relieved himself, because he was still so very drunk and his vision was blurring. Then he needed to quench his thirst with some cold mineral water from the fridge at the bar. His third impulse was a smoke, but he couldn’t find his cigarettes in his pockets or in the vicinity of the bar.

“They’ve smoked everything that could be smoked, those assholes…”

The party had been, apparently, a raging success, judging by the amount of drunk people knocked out cold. Oswald left his club, trying to put his coat on. He rummaged through the pockets again, finding some loose change among the confetti. Should be enough for a pack of cigarettes.

The city was blanketed with snow this year. The cars parked along the streets were snowbanks, the sidewalks were icy and slippery. The King of Gotham looked into the dark sky, watching the falling snowflakes. The crisp air sobered him up a little, but he still wanted to smoke, and badly.

He slowed down as he approached the store until he stopped completely. There was someone standing there, someone painfully familiar.

He could’ve recognized this figure among a million of others, and that nervous turn of the other man’s head was virtually unforgettable. Even now, hungover as all hell, Oswald felt his heart skip a beat as he looked at his past and crazy crush - Jim Gordon looked handsome, even pale and exhausted, and he was still as fit and trim as ever.

There was a time when Oswald was crazy about him. His feelings weren’t completely unrequited, and they’ve shared some drunken kisses, both tried to talk ’about us’ clumsily, but Oswald didn’t perceive that as anything serious. Their relationship hadn’t progressed further, it withered without having a chance to grow into something more. In the end Oswald decided it was foolish to expect anything decisive from a person who didn’t know what he wanted, and he left Jim alone. He felt that ‘out of sight, out of mind’ trick should work, make his feelings, so passionate before, dull with time.

But they didn’t disappear, it seemed. Somehow, he still had some irrational longing for him, some frustrated hopes, some broken dreams deep in his heart.

_ «I wish you stayed away, Jim, but no, you just have to appear before me right here, right now, when I look like five kinds of shit lumped together and smell like a wine cellar or worse…» _

The hurt mingled with alcohol in Oswald’s veins, making him reach out for a bunch of snow from the nearest car. It was just the best for a big, solid snowball. Oswald intended for it to hit the detective’s broad back - it hit his defenceless nape instead.

Jim swore and rubbed it with his hand, trying to shake the snow from under his collar.

“What the…” he noticed Oswald standing there at a distance. “Feeling childish, Penguin?” he asked angrily.

“So glad to see you too, Gordon,” Oswald grinned, rubbing the snow off his gloves.

“I’m not in the mood for talking, you know,” Gordon said. “So let’s go on our ways peacefully.”

“Is there a reason to not be peaceful? Are we having a fight?”

“Oh, not at all! After all, we’re good friends!” Jim exploded suddenly.

Oswald looked at him carefully - the detective looked very tired, his eyes were shining unnaturally, and he had a bottle of wine and a big pack of tissues in his hand. Jim stuffed the bottle into his coat pocket and took a tissue out. He turned away from Oswald, embarrassed, and blew his nose.

“Are you sick?”

_ «Of course he is sick… For fuck’s sake, Oswald, it’s not like you’ve gone blind from drinking!» _

“Just imagine, I happen to be human and therefore can get sick,” Jim replied as if picking a fight, but it sounded pitiful. He also looked pitiful, with his red nose and watering eyes, very different from his usual sharp look.

“Alcohol won’t cure your cold.”

“I want to make mulled wine,” Jim’s nasal voice stirred some useless silly sympathy in Oswald.

“Mulled wine is useless. Grog, on the other hand…” Oswald came closer, but he was still at a safe distance.

“Gee, thanks. I don’t need your advice or your sympathy,” Jim stepped forward and slipped. Oswald only managed to catch him at the last moment, oophing from the sudden impact of his heavy body.

“Careful, it’s slippery here…” he had trouble breathing from the sudden proximity. Or not - it was most probably the chilly air at fault.

“Hey, do you…” his words rushed out and Oswald regretted them immediately, but it was too late and Jim was standing so close and looking at him questioningly with those incredible eyes.

_ «Seducing Detective Gordon, attempt number three thousand eight hundred twenty three. Bound to fail like the rest of them.» _

“Do you want to make grog and drink it at my place? I’m also feeling a little under the weather,” Oswald shifted his shoulders, chilly, and sniffled for persuasion. Jim was still looking at him, his gaze unreadable.

But several minutes later they were at Oswald’s car, warming up the engine and cleaning it from snow. When they were done, Oswald opened the door for Jim with a flourish.

“Please get in,” he said.

“Thank you.”


End file.
